


Ripper's In Love

by mouemouth



Series: And the other stars [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter - Fandom, Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham - Fandom
Genre: Bottom Will Graham, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, Established Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Honeymoon, I'm Bad At Tagging, Jealous Will Graham, M/M, Marriage, Married Life, Murder, Murder Husbands, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Top Hannibal Lecter, should i make these chapters longer?, what am i doing with these tags?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:41:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 13,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27667622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mouemouth/pseuds/mouemouth
Summary: Hannibal and Will are living on a Carribean island with their 2 dogs. Hannibal is the island's vet and Will is an author. They kill some people and get married. Jack is investigating the murder. Lots of fluff and some violence. Plot driven.
Relationships: Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Series: And the other stars [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2023100
Comments: 16
Kudos: 90





	1. Chapter 1

Birmingham, Alabama - August 9, 2016

Republican banners, red ribbons, dozens of star spangled banners, and a few Confederate flags decorated the Alabama ball room. Signs that read, “Hallelujah”, “Marriage = Man + Woman”, “Pray for Abortion to End”, “Amen”, and “Build a Wall” filled the wood paneled room. The room was filled with mostly with middle-aged white men and a few wives. The room reeked of acrid sweat, cheap cigars, and Southern bourbon. Surgeon general recommendations against indoor second hand smoke were just that, recommendations. A medical _opinion_. This was an ultra-right wing political fundraiser/birthday party for the incumbent mayor.

Backstage the staff was in a frenzy setting up the oversized birthday cake for the mayor that they hadn’t noticed that the cake was leaking. A peroxide blonde woman dressed like a sexy Uncle Sam prepared to get inside the cake. The forward facing front of the cake was made of real icing and flour. The rear facade was made of styrofoam and Papier-mâché, hinged with a false door.Wrinkling her nose at the strange smell emitting from the cake, she pulls open the cake door. And screams.

Inside were two men, with dead eyes, their faces were carved in a grisly smile. Both were dressed in tuxedos and holding hands with interlaced fingers. Below their tuxedos, their guts and innards spilled out. Hung between them, like macabre streamers, their intestines spelled out the words: **JUST MARRIED**

—

The ballroom, now replaced with a team of crime scene investigators, dozens of forensics moving around and tagging almost near everything with yellow labels, flashes of photographs going off near every 3 seconds. The choreographed dance of investigation, the restless movement of bodies examining evidence, the yellow forensic tags like confetti, the flashes of camera mimicking a strobe light. A postmortem party!

In the spotlight was the giant pop-up cake. The edible front facade of the cake was now drooping and melting under prolonged exposure to the intense lights. Surrounding the cake stands our favorite FBI agents, Jack Crawford, Jimmy Price, and Brian Zeller.

“Oh, you got to be kidding me,” Zeller says exasperatedly as he comes in full view of the morbid facsimile of cake toppers inside.

“I think it’s kind of romantic,” Price quips.

Zeller shoots him a dirty look and Price shrugs and takes another photograph.

Jack is stoic and stares inscrutably at the scene before him.

Changing the subject, Price states professionally, “One of the victims has been identified by the political assistant as Marcus Foley, the one on the right. Foley was the politician who the party was for.”

Zeller adds, “Forensics is taking blood and hair samples from all staff and those in attendance.”

“There’s also a forensics team at the bakery, where the cake was customized, taking samples there,” Price says, “Likely over 100 blood and hair samples to cross-examine. There were over 90 people at this location alone.”

“Though most likely none will come up with anything conclusive,” Zeller adds pointedly.

“Except maybe to some klan associations,” Price banters.

Jack still has not said a word.

Zeller, unable to take the elephant in the room any longer, throws his hands up, and says, “Are we not going to say what we’re all thinking?”

Jack doesn’t react, Price sensing the tension, looks back down through his camera lens and snaps another photo.

“The staging, the victim selection, the Glasgow smile AND disembowelment. It’s obvious that it’s Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham.” Zeller says.

“High possibility it’s the Chesapeake Ripper,” Price adds.

“Who, might I add, is Hannibal Lecter!”

Irritated, Jack bellows, “They’re dead!” Heads turn towards the sudden noise, and he lowers his voice, still carrying volumes despite the lower decibel, “I watched them FALL.”

“But their bodies were never found, Jack,” Zeller says a bit more softly.

Jack takes a deep breath, turns back to the grotesque message made of guts, sighs, and says softly to himself, “Ripper’s in love.”


	2. Chapter 2

1 MONTH EARLIER

FWUM - The pendulum swings and long dark lashes flutter close.

FWUM - The pendulum swings and the light wipes away the colors to black.

FWUM- A scene emerges from the darkness. An Asian-American woman in her late 30s appear, Detective Angela Lee. Homicide. Tough, sassy, street-smart. She’s wearing Doc Martens and a black leather jacket over a burgundy dress shirt. Her clothes reflect her badass attitude.

She steps forward and the scene emerges before her, as if a spotlight is on Detective Lee. Now only the detective and the victim is visible. A 14 year old Hispanic boy lays dead, shot in the head and three times in the chest, eyes unblinking. She looks at him with the desensitized eyes of a cop, examining the body and bending down close.

“Victim was shot 3 times in the chest and then once in the head. Forensics found 2 different kinds of shell casings. The trail of blood from the living room to the bathroom door means that he tried to run, he turns, and was shot again in the head.”

The light grows larger to the bloody trail.

“The killer shot him in the face. He wanted to see his face when he killed him,” says a low, impassive voice and the light pulls back. The scene is fully revealed. Lee’s partners, Detective Alan Archibold, an African American man in his late 40s looks down at the boy. He’s slim, wearing a black suit, lavender shirt, with a black tie. Archibold looks around, they are in a condemned building but there is evidence of squatters. Crumbled fast food wrappers are scattered throughout the floor, in a corner a stained and filthy mattress, beside it a few broken needles. Urine and feces in a bucket by the door.

“Victim’s is wearing superstars, looks relatively new. No brand on the jeans, and a Hurley t shirt. No tears or rips, other than the bullet holes. They’re nice, but not drug dealer nice. He didn’t live here,” Lee continues. 

“Somebody cared about him,” Archibold adds, almost lightly. However, the glint in his eyes reveal the anguish he’s trying to hide. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, trying to compartmentalize, “How did he end up here? Why did the killer need to look him in the eyes when he shot him?”

The scene swirls and the detectives are outside. There’s a police line and a large group of onlookers, mostly Hispanic. Everyone’s speaking in Spanish.

Lee goes up to one of the uniformed officers and asks in fluent Spanish if anyone was seen coming in or out of the house recently. The officer nods and points to an old Mexican woman.

“Señora, ¿vio a alguien entrando o saliendo de esta casa esta noche?”

The old woman looks at Lee with a piercing glare, she opens her mouth to speak but instead of words a dog’s bark comes out. BARK! BARK! She tilts her head and looks with big brown eyes.

—

Bonaire, Netherlands - July 9, 2016

BARK!

The big brown eyes shift and pull back to reveal the dark brown eyes of a brown dog. Will’s eyes flutter open and he takes a gasp of air, reorienting himself.

“Hey Fred,” Will says, reaching down to pet the 3 legged dog. Hannibal had trained Fred to open the door and to retrieve Will when it was time to eat. Despite his initial reluctance to be the town veterinarian, Hannibal soon figured out the inner workings of animal minds and employed those discoveries by teaching their dogs various tricks. Including fetching his lover.

Closing his laptop, a pause on his fictional detectives in the midst of their next case, Will stretched and went down the stairs with Fred.

—

Hearing the approaching footsteps, the clunk of Will’s boots and the pitter patter of nails, Hannibal looks up from the stove and asks, “How’s the book coming along?”

“The devilishly handsome man asked, briefly looking up from the sizzling pan before him. Though he had asked that question and was in the middle of preparing dinner, it was not only thought in his mind,” Will began to narrate, walking around the kitchen.

“I guess it’s going well then,” Hannibal said.

Walking around the kitchen island, Will continues, “For Hannibal followed many trains of thought at once. In the locomotive, he’s thinking about his patient list tomorrow: Fluffy, Marbles, and Mr. Bojangles. Meanwhile, in the freight train, he’s considering the grocery list and what to make for dinner tomorrow night.”

Now next to Hannibal, Will looked down at the eggplant dish on the skillet. It was impletata - though he didn’t know what it was, it looked and smelled good. “Ever since the time Will said he will get dinner and presented him with a Domino’s pizza, Hannibal determined to do all the meal planning henceforth,” Will said, with a smirk and glance at Hannibal.

“Yet still in another train, Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata 2 was playing in the monorail. But at the forefront of his mind, in the fast moving Maglev, were thoughts of his co-conspirator, murder accomplice, and lover, “ Will paused.

Hannibal was stirring the polenta in the pot, looked curiously at Will, but said nothing.

“Who was looking at him with blue eyes of adoration. As if to say,: _A lifetime now. I’d fall a thousand more. My time with you is never a bore._

And Hannibal thought to himself, ‘I’m glad I didn’t eat him.’” Will finished playfully.

But what Hannibal was really thinking at the time was that, if this was it, and the ceiling collapsed, he would be content. His heart was full. 


	3. Chapter 3

After finishing their impletata and polenta: “An eggplant stuffed with forcemeat, a Romanian dish traditionally served with a maize flour porridge called mamaliga. Immortalized in _Dracula_ when Jonathan stops for the night at the Hotel Royale, but, unable to sleep, menaced by strange dreams and the howling of dogs, he gets up and orders this dish.”

Hannibal comes back from the kitchen with bottle of wine along with dessert, a blackcurrant parfait.

“A wonderful Italian store selling fine wines and gourmet delicacies just opened recently. I just so happen to chance upon it today,” Hannibal says, pouring Will a glass of wine.

“Longing for a taste of home of which they can never return,” Will says, commenting on the large number of Italian expats who have fled from prosecution in their native country.

“For some of us, memories of Italy will be all we have,” Hannibal smiles and hands Will a glass, explaining, “Bâtard-Montrachet, this is the same wine I had in Florence. Did you know that this wine was how Alana found me?”

“Yeah,” Will said, not drinking and putting his glass down instead. “I heard a _blonde_ woman bought it every week,” adding spitefully. His nose wrinkled as if he’d just smelled something putrid when he said the word, ‘blonde’.

Hannibal sniffs and sips his wine. “You know, Bedelia technically killed Professor Sogliato and even participated when I killed Anthony Dimond,” taunting Will. 

“Like one of Dracula’s devoted brides, a convert behind the veil,” Will adds haughtily, still not touching his wine.

“Locked behind the castle walls.” Hannibal pauses, “Will, you haven’t touched your wine.” Looking at the younger man, he teases, “Don’t tell me you’re jealous because I drank this particular wine with Bedelia.”

As if to refute Hannibal, Will picks up his glass of Bâtard-Montrachet. He leans back, looks at Hannibal impassively, and says coldly, “I’m not jealous,” and lets go of the glass. Shattering on the dining room floor.

Blinking twice in surprise, Hannibal simply stares at Will.

Will looks down at the broken glass and spilled wine and says cattily, “I don’t think that’s gathering itself back up again.” Will looks at Hannibal like a petulant child, unashamed of his actions. Then, pushing back his chair, Will stands and says, “I’ll go get the broom.”

—

Quantico, Virginia - August 11, 2016

Back at our familiar Quantico morgue, the giant cake stands empty in a corner while the two dead men are examined by Price and Zeller, still positioned like they were in the cake. Holding each others hands while their guts hung, suspended between the men. Red and white, a lurid banner. Jack stands with his latex gloved hands crossed across his chest, observing. 

Price starts, “The two victims are Marcus Foley and George Reekers. Foley, an ultra-right wing Republican and Reekers, a conservative preacher. There’s no indication they had any personal relationship but they did run in the same circles. Both were supported legislation to ban same-sex marriage after the Supreme Court legalized it last year. And both were caught in the company of male prostitutes in years past.”

“They were staged; smiling and holding hands inside a cake like sordid wedding toppers,” Jack concludes.

“An attestment to their hypocrisy? In death the truth shall be revealed?” Price suggests.

“‘The most unpleasant truth is a safer companion than a pleasant falsehood.’” Jack quotes.

Cutting into their musings, Zeller begins, “Autopsy is synonymous with what you’d expect from Lecter and Graham. Pre-mortem surgical dissection, bod-“

Jack interrupts him, “Not Graham. There was no evidence that Will ever cut up anyone while they were still alive.”

Zeller sighs and continues, amending his narration, “The _killers_ posed the victims before rigor mortis set in, increased serotonin in the wounds surrounding the face and abdomen indicate that the victim received his mortal injuries at the _same_ time _._ ”

“Meaning there were at least two killers.” Price adds.

“Foley’s missing a kidney and the majority of the flesh on his abdomen, Reeker’s missing his liver and his right arm.”

Jack sighs, “And, of course, there was no evidence?”

“Latex glove impressions, tux’s belonged to the victims, piano wire taken from the Foley’s own home used to string the ‘message’.”

“There’s no evidence but there is a message,” Price brings up.

They had all been ignoring the most obvious piece of evidence. Literally written in the victims’ blood and guts.


	4. Chapter 4

Bonaire, Netherlands - July 30, 2016

Will wakes up to empty bed, not surprising. Hannibal is an early riser and is usually up making breakfast in the kitchen. However, this morning, he finds a note on the dresser.

It read: **Urgent business to attend. Enjoy your fishing trip. I’ll be home for dinner.** ****

A couple of the local fisherman and Will planned to take one of the boats out for an all-day fishing excursion to the Atlantic sea to catch some of the migratory fish. Donning his fishing hat, his tackle vest studded with lures, rod in hand, Will goes down to the kitchen. Ever the considerate companion, Will finds that Hannibal had packed him a thermos full of coffee and a breakfast sandwich.

Will smiles. Even during their brutal courtship, Hannibal had always taken the time to feed Will.

—

When Will arrived home with his catch, the stench of the sea and fish upon him, salt-licked and sticky, he had not anticipated the scene before him.

During his absence Hannibal had not been idle. The dining room was decorated luxuriously, candle lit, but the table was set for 3. Hearing Will come home, Hannibal, along with their two dogs,steps out of the kitchen to greet him.

“Just on time,” Hannibal said, kissing Will. He takes his catch from him, “Lovely, I’ll put these on ice.”

Eyeing the extra setting, Will asks with suspicion, “Are we expecting someone?”

Hannibal tuts him, “Don’t spoil the surprise. Why won’t you go upstairs and get cleaned up and I’ll explain afterwards?”

Taking a deep breath and cocking his head as if to say, _alright_ , Will wordlessly goes upstairs to shower.

—

Will, sensing the occasion, dresses in a light blue navy suit with a wine red shirt and goes down to the dining room. However, there was someone already sitting at the dining table. It’s Bedelia Du Maurier! Drugged and dressed elegantly in a low cut blue gown with a high slit displaying her bandaged leg.

As if on cue, Hannibal comes out with a long slab of meat, sections striped by wrapped ti leaves, on top of a wooden serving board.

“Will, you look sensational, please, sit,” Hannibal tells him as he sets down the tray in the middle of the table.

He had been making snide remarks about Bedelia for weeks now; pleased, mouth twitching with a hint of a smile, Will says, “This is unexpected.”

To which Hannibal replies, “I wanted to surprise you.”

Will takes a seat, pleased, while Hannibal explains the dish, “Kalua Roasted Loin, placed in a deep pit on top of smoldering embers of mesquite. Slow cooked overnight in the sandy earth just steps from our home.”

Attempting to hide his glee, Will sips his wine and agrees harmoniously, “A tropical dish for our new tropical home.”

Placing a round of Bedelia on Will’s plate, Hannibal continues, “Traditionally, the men and women ate separately in ancient Hawaii. This dish primarily reserved only for men. But in 1819, the Hawaiian king abolished that practice and started to eat openly with women.” Placing a slice of herself on Bedelia’s place before walking over to his own seat.

“And now we’re eating _a_ and _with_ woman. How apt,” Will remarks.

“The next step in progress,” Hannibal says as he closes his mouth on the dish before him.

Taking a bite of the meat, Will chews thoughtfully and comments, “Piquant,” and turns to Bedelia, saying, “Biting but flavorful”.

Pushing the food around on her plate, repulsed, Bedelia notices the predatory eyes of the two men bearing into her. She takes a deep breath and sighs through her nose, and takes a bite of herself. “Could use some more salt,” she says bitterly. She’s done placating these two men.

Facetiously, as if chiding a child, Will says, “Now, you know that isn’t true Bedelia.” He takes another bite and says, “This meat is cooked to perfection.”

Hannibal beams.

Bedelia fights the urge to roll her eyes.

—

Seeing that Will has cleared his plate, Hannibal gets up from his seat and goes to Will. He places a hand on the younger man’s shoulder, leaning forward and says, “Will, you are like a star of the waning summer who beyond all stars rises bathed in the ocean stream to glitter in brilliance.” Rubbing Will’s shoulder, he lowers himself on one knee, pulls out a Cartier ring from his breast pocket, and proposes, “Will you marry me?”

Bedelia, watching all this with heavy lids, unable to bear it any longer and rolls her eyes. Annoyed, she takes a sip of her wine. _Seriously? I was kidnapped, dismembered, and eaten just so that I could watch Hannibal propose?_ She thought to herself.

“Yes, Hannibal, always and forever, yes,” Will says, despite knowing full well that he had already agreed to this months before. The brunette pulls the other man up from his knees and kisses him rapturously.

Bedelia looks on with tired contempt as if she had been anticipating this for the past 7 years. Still, she raises her glass and says, “Congratulations.” _It’s romantic in their own fucked-up kind of way._

Will and Hannibal, left ring finger now each embellished with matching platinum Cartier rings, engraved with the words, _L'amor che move il sole e l'altre stelle,_ raises their own glass in return to the toast.

“Will, I was thinking we should have some sort of announcement,” Hannibal says.

Raising his eyebrows, Will teases good-naturedly, “You mean send out invitations and get matching shirts that say, ‘Murder Husbands’?”

“Perhaps a bit more subtle than that.”

Will ponders that idea for a moment and looks at Bedelia, “Perhaps we could reshape her into a kind of announcement.”

Drugged and a bit tipsy, Bedelia could not hide her sneer of disgust.

Upon hearing her scoff, Hannibal looks up and says, “Now, Bedelia the was rude.”

Slowly she says, “Forgive me if I cannot seem to share your excitement,” she takes a deep breath, “Especially considering that I am the hare devoured by the foxes and hounds in this game of chase; simply to illicit lust.”


	5. Chapter 5

In the kitchen, after the main course, Will and Hannibal are locked in each other’s arms, kissing. Their dessert lay melting, forgotten, their _meat_ in the dining room sat waiting. The latter could hear the deep breathing and moans from behind the kitchen door, metal pots and dishes clattering. She takes a deep breath, attempting to steady herself, reaching for her glass of wine, when she notices a small black and white dog sniffing at her ankle. With an eyebrow arched, she puts down her glass.

Will has Hannibal pressed up against the kitchen countertop, knocking him into several of the cooking instruments behind him. His hands feeling to reach under Hannibal’s buttoned shirt, pulling out his shirttails so his fingers could touch the older man’s skin underneath, when -

 _Arrh_! The shrill of a dog’s yelp pierces the air.

With a bang, the kitchen door bursts open and Will dashes out, freezes, with Hannibal appearing slowly from behind. Both men’s lips were red and swollen (and not merely from the Chianti), their hair mussed, and their shirts partially unbuttoned and wrinkled.

“Let me go or this one gets it,” Bedelia says in a hushed voice, weak from the drugs coursing through her system. But not weak enough to hold the life of the 15lb dog in her hands. The little black and white dog now had a red streak on her underbelly, blood dripping down her shoulder. Bedelia had the dog by the scruff of its neck and was holding a fork to the little doggy’s heart. Whimpering and shaking, the small dog knew it could not get out of Bedelia’s grip.

Agitated and worried, Will attempts to calm Bedelia down, “Okay Bedelia, just don’t hurt Annie.”

With a mirthless laugh and a wild look in her eye, she presses the fork in closer to the dog’s flesh, “Annie is it? How would- ARGHHH!!!” Bedelia groans in pain, unable to finish that threat, for Fred, the other dog, had latched on to her arm. The dog and fork drops to the floor.

What Bedelia had not anticipated was that when she grabbed the smaller dog, Annie, the larger brown dog’s protective instinct kicking in. Despite only having 3 legs, the larger dog quietly came around her, silently watching in the shadows, waiting for his moment. With 34% pitbull terrier, the brown dog had a wide and short snout. And, with an executed jump, jaws opening, Fred’s canines clamped down with a bite force immense enough to shatter the small blonde woman’s ulna.

As Bedelia struggles with the larger dog, Will grabs her by her throat with his right hand. Much smaller and delicate than him, the blonde woman’s gasps, eyes bulging. He could feel her esophagus and trachea crushing beneath his fingers, his one hand wrapping almost completely around her neck. Bringing up his left hand, intending to close it around her throat, strangling her. Instead, with an uncontrollable rage, a wild ferocity, he grabs the back of her blonde hair. How dare she threaten his pack, his family. She needs to be eviscerated. He pulls her head back, throat exposed, and with a savage growl, he bites down on her carotid artery and rips her throat out.

Blood showers him from the arterial spray of a still beating heart. The gushing red liquid, warm and wet, dripped down his hair, his lashes, his lips. His mouth was filled with bits of flesh, blood, and sinew. Those pieces dangling between his teeth and lips and drips down his neck. Trickling beneath his shirt, the aqueous blood seeping through his shirt; seeping through him. A wildness seeping through him, entering him, enveloping him in its dark red hold.

—

In the steamy fog, clear water drips down, mixing with the blood, diluting its redness, swirling down the drain at his feet. Another pair of feet stands opposite him, unbloodied. A soap sudded sponge, white and frothy, strokes a blood stained chest. A red hand strokes a light-haired chest with the same motion.

Gentle hands threads through his hair, massaging the scalp, a darkness flowing out from his dark hair, emerging red at the base of his neck, down his spine, and down to the white quartz floor. Red against white and then no more.

In his red mouth, between his perfect teeth, stuck on incisors and canines, blood and flesh hung. Red against white. Opening his mouth, his head tilted backwards to let the water enter and take the blood out of his mouth. Streaming down to the drain, moving down past his chest, his stomach, and his cock. The white frothy sponge closes over his flaccid member and slathers it. Stroking it clean, the sponge pulls away revealing an erect penis.

Wide lips covers his own while white foam drips down his spine and in-between his crevice. He doesn’t feel like himself. He feels outside of himself as if looking in on someone else. Something else.He feels like an unhinged animal, a beast.

Damp, he crawls onto the bed with his hands and knees. Moist, he presents himself, arching his back, knees slightly apart. Open and willing. He was ready to be mounted. The beastly urges of sex and slaughter, unintelligible and instinctual, his baser needs. The agony to be filled. Like a bitch in heat.

The warm wetness of precum and lube enters him, filling him with a sensation that sent shivers throughout his body. Seeping through him, enveloping him; a liquid caress through his veins. A hand weaves its fingers through his dark hair like his fingers weaved through a blonde’s. Paralleling the same motion, the fingers tip his dark hair back, exposing his neck and jugular. Lips and teeth touch the curve of his throat and a wet heat of a tongue touches it, sucks on it, kisses it.

He half growls in pleasure. Thrusting himself backwards, pushing in and grinding on his mate’s cock, he aches for the sensation to enter him completely. For the dark rapture to take him below, to the murky depths where the color of blood and water are the same. Where only the only sound heard is that of his own beating heart.

His whole body is burning, tendrils of heat wrapping around him. A hot stickiness covers him, sweat, saliva, and their secretions. He looks at his hands gripping the sheets. They morph into paws, then hooves, then emerging once more as the carbon-black fingers of a Wendigo. He feels as if antlers were sprouting, his head heavy, he rolls his shoulders back, pivoting and pressing himself against the pounding of his mate’s heat.

His mate flips him over and he’s on his back now. He yowls at the loss of that hard, sticky heat. But he is not denied for long. Entering him again, their bodies pressed close, he claws the other’s back, body begging for more. His tongue lolls out, panting, and licks the other’s lips, the underside of his jaw, the rough stubble on his neck. Held closer, cock penetrating deeper, he writhes in the envelopment of that heat. Touching himself, he tugs on his own sticky cock, stroking, but it feels as if he’s being touched by another hand - his dark Wendigo hand.

Like a black fog surrounding him, his senses dull, sounds faint, lights dim, only feeling the tactile sensations on his pale skin. The throbbing heat inside, the heaviness of his loins, the breath against his neck, he quivers and comes. Stickiness shooting upwards, clinging to his body.

“ _Come on me, come on my face_ ,” a disembodied voice says. Surely, not his, a beast does not speak.

A warm white liquid splatters on his face, dripping down his face, his eyes, his nose, his lips. Touching himself, he spreads the come across his body mixing their semen together. He licks his lips, tasting their combined flavor. He closes his eyes and shudders with a sigh.

Muffled and distant, as if underwater, he hears a voice, “ _Will_?” Beneath his eyelids, his eyes move, but they do not open.

Again, a bit clearer now, “ _Will_.” And even louder still, the hypnotic voice cutting through the water, “Will,” the words ring clear through the haze of his mind this time, “ **I need you to open your eyes**.”

With a rush, as if he’s flooding back into his body, Will’s blue eyes snap open.


	6. Chapter 6

Quantico, Virginia - August 11, 2016

“Hannibal is NOT in love with Will!” Jack says loudly, as if trying to convince himself more than anyone else.

“Really Jack?” Zeller says sarcastically, in disbelief. “Let’s examine the evidence shall we? Hannibal killed the judge that threw out crucial evidence when Will was on trial. Then, he provided said evidence to exonerate Will so that they could start ‘therapy’ again. I.E. to be together again.”

“Hannibal also left his “broken heart” in Italy for Will to find,” Jimmy Price adds.

“Yes!” Zeller exclaims, happy for the support, “And, my personal favorite, when he surrendered so that Will would ‘always know where he was.’”

“That one was kind of sweet.”

“He’s a serial killer, Jimmy. Stop shipping them.”

Price shrugs.

“Enough!” Jack says, frustrated, “Maybe Hannibal _is_ in love with Will. But I can’t imagine Will feeling the same way about him. He manipulated him, framed him, cut his stomach open, _and_ I watched him cut open Will’s head!”

“I think Will’s a bit of a masochist,” Price says lightly, “His love language is violence.”

“And there’s no one more violent than Hannibal, Jack.”

—

International Waters - August 8, 2016

_“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the presence of these witnesses, to join Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter in matrimony. Into this holy estate these two persons present now come to be joined. If any person can show just cause why they may not be joined together, let them speak now or forever hold their peace.”_

Hannibal and Will turn to look at their only other guest, Marcus Foley, wide-eyed and trembling, but their guest does not say a word.

_“Now, repeat after me:_

_I, Hannibal Lecter, take you, Will Graham, to be my lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.”_

I, Hannibal Lecter, take you, Will Graham, to be my lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.

_“And now, repeat after me:_

_I, Will Graham, take you, Hannibal Lecter, to be my lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.”_

I, Will Graham, take you, Hannibal Lecter, to be my lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.

_“By the power vested in me by the state of Alabama, I now pronounce you married. You may kiss the br-b_ ,” George Reekers stutters and amends, “You may kiss the boy.”

Under an arch of red and black flowers and thorny vines, Will and Hannibal kiss aboard their sailboat as a newly anointed couple. Now decorated with a black carpet running the vertical length of the boat with red rose petals strewn on top. The sails were down and the boat was floating in the calm night sea.

Hannibal and Will turn to the two men bound to the ship’s masts by the same red, black, and thorny floral arrangement. Their officiator and their witness.

“Now to consummate this marriage….” Will says with a malevolent glint.

Hannibal smiles, his own maroon eyes glistening. The wedding was always to end in blood.

—

Charleston Harbor, South Carolina - August 6, 2016

Clean shaven and dressed in a tight, and tiny, blue and white striped swim trunks, Will frowns at his reflection in the mirror. His curls styled just above his eyes making him appear much younger.

“Aren’t I a little too old to be his type?” Will says disbelieving.

“Will, you look like a Hellenistic sculpture,” Hannibal whispers from behind, eyes lingering on Will’s body. “Made of marble and silver. He’d be a fool to not fall at the sight of you.”

—

A tall man, 60s, in a yellow seersucker suit walks in a clipped pace down the harbors, past the sailboats. Disguising himself as best he can with a hat and sunglasses, he tries to avoid eye contact with anyone who passes him by.

SPLASH - the spatter of a nearby bucket of water hits him with full force and drenches the front of his suit. Furious, he pulls off his sunglasses and wipes his face, looking around for the offender. Like Hermes flying in, Will swings down from a rope and lands in front of him. Landing lightly, like an angel descending from above.

“Oh man, I’m so sorry,” Will says, ducking his head shyly, looking up with his blue puppy dog eyes, “I didn’t see you there. Let me help you,” touching the man unnecessarily and patting the front of his seeker sucker suit with his hands.

The man could feel his anger melt away at the younger man’s touch. He swallows, “I - it’s alright, is that your boat?”

Will throws his head back and laughs, showing his bright white teeth and smiles shyly, “It’s my father’s but he’s lent it to me for the weekend.”He can feel the stare of the older man’s eyes lecherously examining him all over, lingering on his crotch.

Will cocks his head playfully and leans in close, holding out his hand, “My name’s Joe.” And more huskily, “What’s yours?”

“George Reekers,” the older man practically salivates.

“I’m sorry I got you all… wet. Want to come aboard and let me get you dry?” Will asks, batting his lashes innocently.

The man nods as if his neck would break.

Leading George up ramp and onto the sailboat, Will hands him a drink and begins to undo the sails. Not expecting a sudden adventure, he asks, “Are we going somewhere?”

Grinning Will replies, “I was thinking about somewhere with a little more privacy.”

Excitedly nodding, the older man says, “I agree.”

—

Once they’re a few miles from shore, out of sight of any prying eyes, George decides it’s time to make his move. Coming up from behind, the preacher grabs Will’s ass. Will yelps, and jumps away.

Will laughs but his eyes are dark, “Now, now, why don’t we go below deck where it’s a little more comfortable?” and motions towards the door behind him.

George hesitates, not wanting to keep his hands to himself, so Will leans forward, touches his yellow tie seductively, “I promise I’ll be right down,” and winks.

At the prospect of pounding that tight ass, George smiles and hurries towards the door. Going down the stairs and stepping into the dimness below, he fumbles for the light switch.

He’s in the middle of tugging off his tie when he notices Hannibal sitting coolly on one of the dining chairs, legs crossed and hands folded neatly in his lap.

“Hello Mr. Reekers,” Hannibal says with dead eyes.

“Who the fuck are you?” George demands, backing up the stairs to get some answers. He is not into older men.

Will appearing silently from behind, pounces on his back, and places a chloroformed rag over his face.


	7. Chapter 7

Montgomery, Alabama - August 7, 2016

Hannibal is alone at a high end wine shop. He’s holding a bottle of La Sirena Cabernet Sauvignon 2012 and examining it. A dyed blonde man in his mid forties, standing several inches shorter with a chubbiness that envelops his whole body, not too unlike in body shape to his former patient, Franklin, except that the man is clean shaven with a politician’s haircut. Dressed in a plain blue suit with red tie, Hannibal can sense in his peripheral vision that the man is sneaking glances at him.

Turning on his charm, Hannibal glances up at him and says, “I find that this particular vintage has an incredible mouthfeel progression.”

“Ah, is that so? With a recommendation like that, I must give it a try.” He approaches Hannibal, touches the bottle of wine in his hand, purposely putting his hand on Hannibal’s. He looks Hannibal up in down, who is dressed in his bespoke grey and red plaid suit, he’s a sight to behold. “Are you from around here?”

“Not originally,” Hannibal says, letting go of the wine bottle. “I’ve just sailed in.” He pauses, “Do you enjoy sailing?”

The smaller man eagerly nods.  
  
“Why don’t you accompany me on my boat tonight? I have it docked at the harbor in Pensacola.”

Foley hesitates, he knows he has an event in Birmingham the next day, but damn if this wasn’t the most gorgeous man he had ever seen. His asshole throbbed. “Can’t you stay a while? I have a suite down at the Ritz.”

Hannibal smiles and shakes his head, “Unfortunately, I have a meeting I must get to and I’m afraid I must be on my way.” Sensing Foley’s dilemma, he leans in and whispers in his ear, “I promise I’ll take it worth your while.”

“Oh fuck me daddy,” the pudgy man moans quietly.

Pulling away, Hannibal smiles ands him his card. “Bon Voyage,” the silver haired gentlemen says, ending this conversation with a hand on Foley’s shoulder and walks out the door.

—

Pensacola Docks, Alabama

The sails are already raised and the boat ready to depart the harbor when Marcus Foley arrives. He’s dressed in another blue suit but with a vest now, his hair combed, and reeked of cologne. Hannibal greets him and welcomes him onboard.

Like a boy on his first date, Foley hands Hannibal the bottle of La Sirena they were looking at earlier that day.

“How considerate of you,” Hannibal says as Foley hands him the bottle, “Please have a seat, you wouldn’t mind a sail around the harbor would you?”

“Not at all,” Foley says, trying to mask his Southern accent in an attempt to appear more refined.

In the moonless sky, the boat was soon beyond prying eyes.

Stepping back onto the deck, Hannibal walks over to the bar to open the bottle of wine. Without a modicum of self control, the blonde man hugs Hannibal from behind and tries to reach around to fondle Hannibal’s penis. Body stiffening in disgust, Hannibal says, “Now, now,” and turns swiftly to face Foley. Sensing his opportunity, the blonde man attempts to kiss Hannibal, but Hannibal’s hand shoots up and catches him by the throat. Thinking it’s foreplay, Foley moans and tries to rub up against the taller gentleman, but Hannibal pushes him away. “I didn’t say you could touch me,” Hannibal’s grip tightening as Foley’s eyes widen in realization that the glint in Hannibal’s eye was not of lust but of brutality.

Foley slumps over and passes out on the deck. From behind the shadows, Will emerges and Hannibal hands him a glass of wine. Leaning against the cabin door, one hand in his pocket, he sips his wine, and says, “I thought we were going to get him below deck first.”

Sniffing his wine calmly, Hannibal replies, “The man lacked self-control.”

Will smiles and sips his wine, “The mouthfeel progression on this wine _is_ exceptional.”


	8. Chapter 8

Bonaire, Netherlands - August 16, 2020

\- - - -

**Will & Hannibal’s Dinner Party Menu:**

Jerk Pork Tenderloin _(George Reekers)_

_smoked with charcoal & allspice berries - jerk seasoning - scotch bonnet chiles_

Sirloin Steak _(Bedelia Du Maurier)_

_dry aged - NY strip - bone marrow butter_

Lechón Liempo _(Marcus Foley)_

_pit roasted - lemongrass - bagoong drizzle_

Lutefisk

_dried wahoo - pickled in lye - black truffle_

\- - - -

The moon was high and bright that night, casting its silvery glow on the ocean before him. Will stands mesmerized as he looks at the reflection on the churning black sea. He lifts a hand and stares at it, imagining that night he first noticed how the moon’s illumination can cause colors to change… and Become something else. He smiles as he sees the light glint off his wedding band. _The love that moves the sun and the other stars._

“Almost every place has a moment, an angle and intensity of light, in which it looks its best. When the moon is full in the night sky, casting its unearthly glow, that is when I think you look best.” Hannibal says, putting his arm around Will.

“I feel the same way … about you,” Will agrees and leans into Hannibal.

This time Will dressed himself, telling Hannibal he’ll wear whatever he wants him to when they’re on their honeymoon. And so Will Graham is dressed in a black and blue tropical print Hawaiian shirt over a white t shirt with white linen trousers. Accessorizing with his favorite blue boat shoes.

Also considerably pared down, Hannibal is wearing dark blue Gucci jeans, a dark brown suede vest, and a tropical print green and white shirt underneath - sleeves rolled to the elbows and unbuttoned down to reveal the tips of his chest hair. Finishing his look, Hannibal wears a round toed, black leather boots.

“Yoohoo~ hoi!” Tiffany Bailey cries in greeting, waving her arm enthusiastically. Fred and Annie running up beside her. The tan curvy woman was dressed in a long green and pink maxi dress. She had a pink flower in her hair. “Wow, this is beautiful! And congratulations! I knew it was only a matter of time before you two got married. How was the wedding?”

“If I were given a chance to turn back time, I would would not take it. It was perfect,” Will said. Bending to pets the dogs licking his hands, he adds, “And thank you for minding the dogs.”

With a wistful look in her eyes, she says, “That sounds so romantic.” Composing herself, she continues, “And not a problem, Fred and Annie are very well-behaved, not like my little rascal.” Referring to her own 80lb Shepard mix.

“Please,” Hannibal says, gesturing to the bar, “Would you like a drink?’

Hannibal and Will’s expansive backyard was set for a feast. Two long teak dining tables, atop laid a floral blue table runner, ivory plates over a bamboo base setting, antique silverware, a tropical centerpiece of birds of paradise, palm leaves, red hibiscus, and purple succulents at the center. The trees were strung with stringed globed lights, incandescent filament flickering. A tiki bar on the left, guests entering from the gate on the right. It was right out of a tropical fairytale.

“Whoa ho, you guys have a bartender!” Tiffany exclaims when they get to the bar.

“Tomas is not the type to skimp,” Will replies. “I’ll take a beer.”

“I’ll have one as well,” Hannibal adds.

“Me three!” Tiffany chirps.

Soon their guests were arriving in droves. A few of Will’s fisherman friends, some of the pet parents from Hannibal’s vet clinic, and several of their neighbors. Given the questionable nature of many of the resident’s sources of income, there was unsaid code of discretion on the island, and, that no one is to take photos without expressed permission. There was also a general understanding to not ask for details.

Will was chatting with his fisherman friends when he noticed that a large number of the wives were now crowding around Hannibal, flirting with the charming man. A few of the husbands looked up from their conversations and grunted in displeasure but did nothing. They liked Hannibal, and besides, they all knew he only had eyes for Will.

Still, it did start to bother Will a little when one of the wives got a little too close to Hannibal. So he finished off his beer, liquid courage, and told his buddies that he was going to get another one. Instead, Will sidles up to Hannibal under the pretense to ask if he wanted another drink. But before he could ask, Hannibal puts his arm around Will’s waist and kisses him on the forehead, looks lovingly into his eyes as if no one else existed in that moment, and asks, “Shall we start?”

Not used to this amount (or any amount) of public displays of affections, Will blushes and nods. In the corner of his eye, Will could see the ladies pout and simper with envious eyes.

“Ladies, if you would please take your seats,” charismatic, Hannibal gesturing with one hand while holding Will’s waist in the other.

Once everyone was seated, the servers begin bringing out the dishes to the oo’s and ahh’s of all the guests. Even the men found themselves chuffed at this artful culinary display.

Hannibal stands to make a toast, Will did not want to rise, but Hannibal forces him to stand by his side. It was _their_ dinner party after all. Hannibal spoke, “Thank you all for coming to our home. Since our arrival on this island, each of you have made us feel most welcomed here. Each of these dishes were personally prepared by myself and with the help of my gorgeous _husband_ and partner in crime,” and, as if to solidify that sentence, Hannibal dips Will and kisses him on the mouth.

Pulling Will back up, Will’s eyes flutter open, blinking rapidly. “Bon appetite,” Hannibal concludes, raising a glass, wedding ring twinkling in the moonlight.

Stunned, Will sank into his seat, face red hot, and touches his brow, partially shielding his face, unable to bear to look anyone in the eyes. Smiling and cringing all at the same time. He felt as if he could die from both happiness and embarrassment. He wondered if there was a word for that.


	9. Chapter 9

Vienna, Austria - August 18, 2016

Hannibal and Will check into the Hotel Imperial after just having flown in under the assumed names Michael Johansson and Alex Johnson. Hannibal had booked the Maisonette Suite Bi-level Suite, since, unfortunately, the Presidential Suite was already taken. Still, the top level suite included a spiral staircase, a private balcony, and a second level that reminded Hannibal of his old Baltimore office.

After their private butler was dismissed, Will lets out a low whistle as he looks around the room. The Neo-Renaissance suite had antique velvet furniture, ornate crown molding, marble bathrooms, gold and white silk walls with a breathtaking view of the city. It was like stepping into a fairytale.

Still dressed in his travel clothes of jeans, t shirt, and hoodie, Wills says, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a suite this nice, or even stepped foot in a hotel this nice.”

“Well, it is our honeymoon after all.”

“True, but just don’t make me into Cinderella.”

“You are nothing like a vapid damsel in distress waiting to be rescued.” Hannibal says, pausing and tilting his head slightly, “Though, perhaps Belle.”

Will frowns, blinking in surprise, and argues, “But we are not locked away in some castle in penance.”

“No, but you certainly have changed this beast.”

Will snorts as he stifles a laugh at the cheesy line. It was so lame but at the same time endearing. Never in his life would he think he’d change Hannibal Lecter so much to the point the psychopath would make Disney movie princess jokes.

—

Hannibal seemed so delighted at the prospect of attending the rendition of the first performed opera ever performed at the Vienna State Opera house that Will couldn’t deny his delectation. Dressed in matching Givenchy tuxedos, white tie of course, for the opening night of **Don Giovanni**. While waiting for the doors to open, Will lingered around the golden-gilded bar, sipping on a martini.

Of course, Hannibal had obtained box seats for the two of them, though a few seats back, thankfully, so that they weren’t too noticeable. Will had never been to an opera before and had no idea what to expect. Nor did he realize that out of all the opera houses in all the world, and out of all the variations, he was at the highest end of the spectrum in terms of tradition and formality. And with the opening night of a time-honored classic, first opera performed at the opera house by Mozart on May 25, 1869, it was held to an even higher degree.

Will thought it should probably be interesting. But, the opera was in Italian, and Will didn’t understand Italian. Though, he thought to himself, even if he did, he doubted he would understand what they were saying behind those bellowing notes and arias. Honestly, he was more of ‘Jim Morrison and Jimi Hendrix’ kind of guy. The opera house, adjusting itself to modern times, had a little screen on the seat before him that allowed him to select subtitles. Will tried so hard to focus and understand the opera during the First Act. Looking at Hannibal in his peripheral vision, he could tell the older man was enrapt. Not wanting to seem like an ungrateful date, he tried hard to keep up with the storyline.

It felt like an eternity until the end of the First Act. With each scene change, Will felt himself half rise, excited to get out of his seat, thinking it was the break he longed for. But there would be still 4 more scene changes before the curtain fell for Intermission. By the end of the fourth scene, Will was staring vacantly at the singers on stage, storyline completely lost. When the curtain fell on the fifth scene, it wasn’t until other attendees started rising that he realized that it was actually Intermission.

Standing up and following Hannibal out into the lobby, Hannibal turned and asked him, “What did you think of the First Act Will?”

With literally no opinion, Will just repeats Hannibal’s question back to him, “What did _you_ think about the First Act Hannibal?”

“Renato Girolami's Leporello contains all the elements of a classic _buffo_ portrayal,” Hannibal begins, “though the threatening chords at the start of the overture suggests a possibility it will emphasize drama over comedy.”

Will nods, understanding nothing, sucks in a deep breath of air like a man before he jumps off a cliff and says, “Yes, yes, I agree. The threatening chords…ah, the bar! I’m going to get another drink, can I get you anything?”

With an understanding smile, Hannibal replies, “A glass of Dom Perignon please.”

“Coming right up!” Will says with an eagerness to escape Hannibal’s grandiose discussion.

Craving something he understands, Will orders himself a double Knob Creek bourbon and a glass of Dom Perignon. He could see the bartender’s nose scrunch in disgust at the bourbon request.

“I’ll also take a glass of Knob Creek on the rocks, double as well please,” a petite woman dressed in a silk red gown orders with a Scottish accent says.

She leans against the bar next to Will and comments, “Everyone’s walking around like they’ve got a stick up their arse if you ask me.”

Will sniggers at the comment, “If you don’t wear the right labels, listen to the right music, order the right drink, you’re less than.”

“First time at the opera?” She asks.

“What gave it away?”

“The look of misery on your face.”

“Is it that obvious?” Will groans.

“Not really, but misery loves company.”

The bartender sets their drinks down in front of them as if afraid he’d catch their incivility. As if to prove him right, the woman wrinkles her nose and sticks a tongue out at him while his back is turned. Will can’t help but laugh.

“The trick is to get _reallly_ drunk.” She takes a sip, “Makes it go by a lot faster.”

“Cheers,” he says, and takes her advice, Will knocks back his drink and orders another double.

Finding Hannibal in the crowd of black tuxedos was easy, he was the one in the center. Somehow in the few minutes he was gone, Hannibal had managed to garner an audience. Not wanting to interrupt, or more like not wanting to get stuck in some analysis of the opera in which he had no idea what was happening, Will leaned against a column instead. As he sipped his bourbon, he felt a sense of pride, watching his husband bewitch those around him. _And he’s all mine,_ Will thought, smirking.

As if Hannibal had a beacon tuned to Will Graham’s frequency, (though more likely he can smell him), he turns and locks eyes with Will. With a gesture marking the completion of his statement, the crowd let out a collective sound of dismay, and Hannibal extricates himself from those around him.

“They look more interested in you than in the opera,” Will comments, handing Hannibal his glass of champagne.

BING BONG BING DING

The bell calling for the end of intermission rang out.

Hannibal takes a sip and says, “Shall we?”

As Will settles in for the Second Act, and his third drink and second double of the night, he hoped that would make the opera more riveting. But as his eyes darted from the subtitles screen to the stage and back to the screen again, it began to get tedious and the alcohol settled in. The music of the opera began to feel like a lullaby, the velvet softness of the seat relaxing, and his eyes began to droop. His head nods and Will Graham fell asleep to the sound of the words, “Dell'empio che mi trasse al passo estremo qui attendo la vendetta”. In subtitles: Here am I waiting for revenge against the scoundrel who killed me.

It was the shuffling of the seats around him that stirred Will awake. The opera was over, everyone was on their feet, standing and applauding. Jumping up as quickly as he could, straightening his tuxedo out as he did so, Will clapped along. Nervously, he peeks a glance at Hannibal out of the corner of his eye. _Did he notice that I had fallen asleep?_ Will wondered. When Hannibal turned to meet his gaze, Will cringed. _Yep, he totally knows I fell asleep. Shit._


	10. Chapter 10

“Hannibal, I’m sorry, please….nyahhh,” Will cries out. His wrists were tied together to the headboard above his head.

“Are you awake now?” Hannibal asks, teasing the brunette’s prostate with his fingers.

“Yes - yes!” Will writhes and moans.

“You were naughty tonight,” He had been toying with Will for over an hour now. Each time he was close to release, Hannibal withdrew.

“I- sorry! I don’t - I don’t understand Italian~”

“There were subtitles.”

“Too many words…” Will gasped as the older man touched his prostate again.

“I wouldn’t insult you by believing you were incapable of reading Will.”

“Hannibal, please… let me come.”

“Alright, if you can name one other character other than Don Giovani.”

“Ah, ah, uh, Antonio?”

“Bad boy.”

“Ah, unnnh, I can’t take it, Hannibal, st-stop, please…”

“Do you really want me to stop?”

Will pauses and shakes his head.

Hannibal smirks. To reward his honesty, he pulls out his magnificent cock and presses it to the younger man’s face.

“Show me how sorry you are. Suck.”

Hungrily, Will opens his mouth and takes him in, saliva and cum dripping obscenely down his chin.Hannibal groans in pleasure. Holding the younger man by the hair, he thrusts himself deeper into Will’s throat. Tears welling, Will chokes at the sudden motion, but continues to suck diligently.

“Good boy, I think it’s time for your reward,” and he pulls himself out. Going to the nightstand, Hannibal slathers the lube on himself. Pushing the younger man’s legs apart, spread eagle, he licks his lips in anticipation.

The brunette whimpers, trembling, eager for the awaiting pleasure. But Hannibal was tortuously suppressive, rubbing the head of his cock at the entrance, not quite entering.

Writhing, Will tries to penetrate himself.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Hannibal tuts.

Huffing, Will pouts, “Please, Hannibal, fuck me…”

Will begging with the word, ‘please’ had always been a weak point for Hannibal and could not help himself to relent. Sliding in ever so slowly, both men groaned when Hannibal finally enters his entire length in the heat of Will’s quivering hole.

Holding Will’s legs apart, he thrusts his swollen member into the younger man. Leaning forward, he kisses him rapturously. Grinding into him. Moaning and whimpering at the kiss, Will struggles with his restraints, he wants to be able to move too. He looks at Hannibal pleadingly.

With a swift motion, Hannibal cuts the silk ties binding Will to the bed frame and turns him around on his hands and knees. He slams his cock into the younger man, pounding aggressively. Although Hannibal preferred to be a tender lover, Will liked it hard and rough.

He grabs Will’s wrist, pulling it behind his back, causing Will to fall abruptly on his right forearm. Penetrating deeper in that angle, Will moans. As Hannibal slams into Will, the force driving the younger man forward, but with a hold on his left arm, the momentum pulls Will back, impaling him on Hannibal’s cock with equal force.

“Ah.. so deep…,” he moans.

Gruffly, Hannibal yanks Will upward and bites down, hard, on his neck. Breaking the tender skin and tasting a little blood.

“Ah!” Will gasps pleasurably and Hannibal licks his lips.

Their bodies were pressed together now, back to chest. Still holding onto Will’s left arm, his right arm reaches around to caress Will’s chest, pinching his nipples. Lips still locked, sucking on the bruised skin. He grinds himself into Will’s hot hole.

“Oh god…,” Will pants, quivering, “I can’t-,” he cries out. Trembling, the brunette cums. His ass clenching and tightening around the older man’s cock. Hannibal shudders and cums deep into Will, pumping and filling himself inside of younger man.

—

The butler hands Will a coffee in an antique teacup and saucer and bows obsequiously. Dressed in a Neapolitan cut cerulean blue suit with a glen check pattern, brown laced leather shoes, and a Dior handkerchief around his neck to his hickeys, Will sat elegantly with Hannibal in the hotel’s cafe. Will had attempted to order his own coffee but their private butler insisted that they take a seat and that he served them. Despite his best efforts to dismiss the butler, the man kept materializing at the slightest anticipation of his every need. It was as if he could sense what others wanted before they even knew it themselves.

“Thanks,” Will involuntarily nodded his head, unconsciously trying to micmic the butler’s bow. He felt uncomfortable being waited on hand and foot like that. It was like he’d been castrated.

Hannibal was dressed in a light tan plaid English cut suit, with a brown vest, and violet bowtie, looking as if he just walked off Saville Row. The dapper gentlemen, on the other hand, did not share the same revulsion, and accepted his coffee with a prince’s presumption. Which was no surprise given that he viewed everyone as pigs anyway, with the exception of Will of course.

Setting down his teacup in his saucer, Hannibal began to lay out the plan for the day, “Some Vienna vineyards grow their own regional variety of grapes, such as the Wiener Gemischter Satz. A mixed white grape. Varietal Riesling and Grüner are also popular bottlings here as well.”

Still a little tired and a bit sore, Will replies agreeably, “That sounds fine, Hannibal. I’m always up for wine.”

A familiar shade of red entered his periphery and, looking up, Will meets the eyes of the Scotswoman from the night before.

“Ah, Mr. Bourbon!” She says, walking over with a dark haired, refined looking man, in his late 30s, roughly the same age as her.

Will waves, “You can call me Alex,” gesturing to Hannibal, “This is-is my husband, Michael.” He still felt strange referring to Hannibal as his husband, or having a husband for that matter, but he was done with trying to maintain the status quo.

“Lis,” she says, greeting the two of them with a kiss on the cheek. Stepping back, she says “And this is my husband, Palo.” In a customary Spanish-style greeting, Palo also gives them a kiss on the cheek in welcome.

“Alex and I bonded over our mutual appreciation for bourbon at the Wiener Staatsoper bar last night,” Lis explained. “What are you two up to today?”

“I think we’re going to check out some vineyards today,” Will says with a questioning look at Hannibal, who nods in confirmation.

Lis gasps and her eyes light up, but before she could open her mouth, Palo says with a slight Spanish accent, “Then you must join us. We are friendly with the Wieninger family who runs Wieninger Winery just outside of the city.”

“Yes, you must join us!” Lis declares.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to intrude-“ Will begins, looking at Hannibal hoping to convey with his eyes that he wouldn’t mind a drinking buddy where the focus was getting drunk and not tantalizing one’s palate.

“No intrusion at all. It would be our pleasure,” Palo says.

“Please say you’ll join us! You’ll be doing me a favor, I could not possibly endure 5 hours of wine tasting with this one who insists on narrating each sampling. Sometimes you just want to just _drink_.” Lis says, adding with a pout and hands on her hips, “The lady doth insists.”

Although Hannibal would want to keep Will all to himself, it was rare that the younger man actually wanted to socialize. Plus, after last night, he felt a little more merciful. So he chuckles, “‘Sweets to the sweet’. Fine by me, but it’s up to Alex.”

Lis turned to face Will who was already nodding. Although Hannibal and Will drank almost daily, Hannibal would never overindulge. Will doubted the man ever had a blackout before. Unfortunately, he had too many to count... including ones not from alcohol. Still, that didn’t mean he didn’t like getting drunk. He did. And, with her tolerance proven by the night before, Lis seemed like the perfect drinking buddy. 

And right on cue, Lis’ butler appears by her side to take notes of her itinerary’s change.


	11. Chapter 11

“Oh, he was my psychiatrist,” Will says casually, draining his small sampling of wine.

A beautiful sunny summer Austrian day, they were all seated at wooden table outdoors next to the grapevines. Lis and Palo were on good terms with the owner and their table was situated a bit apart from the rest of the others. With a better view, more privacy, and the best wine. On the table were 4 flights of wine with 8 glasses filled with a taste of a different kind of wine.

“Would that be considered a breach of ethics?” Palo inquires.

“There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so,” Hannibal quotes.

“ _Was,_ and what is it you do now?” Lis asks, picking up on the past tense.

“Now, I treat creatures that act more based on instinct than with self-crippling sentience. I’m aveterinarian.”

“How noble of you Doctor. Helping those who cannot help themselves.”

“Well, it’s certainly a change of pace to treat those who do not have the ability to deceive.” Hannibal inhales and sips, “And what do you do?”

“You mean work for a living?” Palo laughs, “Oh no, life’s too short to stand the drudgery of steady employment.”

Lis grimaces and says with an apologetic smile, “What he means is, we have trust funds. Lots of trust funds.” Curious about the blue-eyed one, she asks, “And what is it you do Mr. Johnson?”

“I used to be in law enforcement,” Will says succinctly.

“But now he’s given up his gun in favor of the pen,” Hannibal adds. Will’s not great at casual conversation.

“Are you an author?” Lis asks, intrigued.

“Aspiring,” Will says with a tsk, sucking on his teeth.

“He’s actually written a few novels,” Hannibal proudly, “Under the name J.H. Dancy.”

“They’re pulp. Cliche murder mysteries,” Will waves off.

Lis eyes light up in recognition. “ _C, See, and Sea_? _Everlasting Light_? _Mermaid’s Lure?_ ”

“It seems you’ve got a fan,” Palo comments.

Blinking in surprise, Will says, “Umm.. yeah.”

“You must tell me, what is your inspiration? When you write from the killers’ point of view, they feel so … honest. As if I can find myself descending into the madness with them. And, Detective Lee and Detective Archibold, their thought process - so different! Each written in a completely different styles, I was convinced that there was more than author!"

“To write a novel, you begin with what you can see and then you add what came before and what came after,” Will says, obfuscating.

“‘What you can see…,” Lis repeats thinking, “As in your mind’s eye?”

“Alex has a rare gift, he can assume anyone’s point of view, understand their thinking, even a killer’s.”

“Just because I can understand a murderer’s motivations doesn’t mean that I condone their actions,” Will adds hastily. “Not always.”

Lis cocks her head, “Oh, I don’t know. When I was reading the killer’s narrative in _Everlasting Light_ , I felt as if I could understand his justification. I wanted him to kill Holly so badly. And when he finally slit her throat I felt it was righteous.”

“Now Ms. Elisabeth, you sound like you may be suffering from hybristophilia,” Hannibal diagnoses.

“An attraction to those who have committed heinous acts of brutality,” Will explains.

“Perhaps. I have always been drawn to the weird, strange, and obscure. A dark life hidden in the shadows. Those who have embraced their true nature, no matter how ugly, but at least it’s authentic. ‘To thine own self be true’, right?”

Palo chuckles, “My wife, she loves the salacious and the morbid. Makes her a unique specimen amongst the socialites. Part of why I love her.” His glass now empty, he says “Now, my dear, I must go fetch lunch. There is a flock of invasive Canadian Geese that live on these grounds, destroying the natural vegetation and making a mess of the property. I hope I don’t offend anyone when I invite you gentleman to join me. Despite my wife’s fascination with death, she does not enjoying the sport of hunting.”

“Not at all,” Hannibal replies, “I may be a veterinarian but I am not a vegetarian.”

On the other hand, Will leans back into the couch and declines, “I’ve stopped using a gun once I left my former career. Besides, I’m not a very good shot anyways.”

“Wonderful! Would you care to get drunk with me and talk about murder?” Lis asks gleefully.

“Definitely,” Will replies, draining the rest of his glass.

—

“Do you do much hunting Doctor?” Palo asks, leading him to an array of mortal instruments, several guns and a couple of bows.

“Problem solving is hunting. It's a savage pleasure and we're born to it,” Hannibal replies.

Palo laughs, he loves the word play, “I mean to say, do you single out a target, lie in wait, and is the reason it ceases to exist?” Hannibal does not reply and he continues, staring at the birds 50 yards away, “The owners of these grounds have been desperately trying to rid these water fowls. There’s actually someone in their employ that comes once a week to deter these birds. This is his week off.” He pauses, “These geese no longer fear us, they grow fat with no natural predators around. Even this close, they don’t fly away. Shall we give them something to fear?”

“And remind them who the apex predator is?” Hannibal smiles, touching the revolver.

Palo smiles and picks up a shotgun and hands it to Hannibal, grabbing a shotgun of his own.

“I must confess,” Hannibal says, “I have never fired a gun before.”

“I’m surprised, I thought all Americans owned guns,” Palo replies, looking through the sight of his shotgun. 

“I must point out the fact that I’m actually not American,” Hannibal says, unlocking the safety, turns and peers at the magazine, expertly pumps the fore-end to reveal the chamber, and checks for shells.

Palo stares at him in disbelief.

“My husband did use to work in law enforcement,” Hannibal says, as if that explained things.

Looking at the birds, Palo estimates, “What do you think? 45 yards away?”

“Give or take 5 yards,” Hannibal replies.

Palo steadies his shotgun and pulls the trigger. Misses. A few of the geese scatter.

“They really aren’t afraid of us,” Hannibal comments.

Palo gestures for Hannibal to try. Hannibal holds up his shotgun, takes aim, and fires at one of the scattering birds. One of the geese falls.

Eyeing him suspiciously, “Are you sure you’ve never shot a gun before this?”

Placing a hand over his heart, “I swear upon my beloved’s life.”

The two men shoot again, this time Palo hits a bird, but so does Hannibal. They continue on until there are almost half a dozen dead geese.

“Shall we up the challenge?” Palo queries.

“What do you have in mind?”

Palo hands him a bow and says lightly, “Don’t tell me you’ve never used one of these before either. I simply won’t believe you.”

“I really haven’t, but, I won’t argue it,” Hannibal taking the bow and arrow in his hands.

Aiming again, Palo lets go of the arrow and it lands a yard away from the closest geese. “Damn,” he mutters.

Hannibal takes aim, and, misses, the arrow landing only a foot away from the goose he was trying for. He shrugs as if to say, _I told you so._

“That was really close though,” Palo replies and takes aim again. The arrow still lands far.

Repositioning his arrow, Hannibal aims and strikes his intended goose. The fowl didn’t know what hit it and it crumbles where it laid.

Palo turns to look at Hannibal with appreciation and awe, “Damn,” _what a man,_ he adds in his head, biting his lower lip.

—

“Shall we play a drinking game?” Lis queries.

“What do you have in mind?”

“A game of observation. Let’s guess what we think a person’s job is. Whoever guesses wrong has to drink.”

“Make it field of profession and we got a deal. But how are going to confirm it?” Will asks.

Lis purses her lips in a moue of thought. She gasps, like a lightbulb has gone off in her head and waves the butler over. She whispers something in his ear and slips him a 100Euro note.

Will looks at her questioningly. She smiles mischievously and says, “You’ll see.”

Lis and Will were seated in a corner of the tasting room that overlooked the pathway to the entrance of the building. A large man arrives with his family. He’s almost as wide as he is tall but he looks as if he has the strength of a bull. Yet, he moves with a certain grace, as he he dances all day. He’s dressed casually, with a short-sleeved button up with shorts. A very hairy man, but there’s a strange gradation of hair on his arms. Wrists bare but hair growing denser as it moves up the arm.

Lis guesses, “Lorry driver?”

Will counters, “Chef or baker.”

Apparently, Lis had instructed that, under the guise of networking, that all the guests write their professions on a name tag. When the family entered, written on the large man’s name tag was: pizzaiolo

Lis squeals in delight and takes a sip of her wine, “A chef that bakes! How did you know?”

“His frames denotes a man who loves to eat, but he moves delicately as if he has to maneuver around hazards all day. Also, there’s no hair on his wrists, despite being clearly a hairy man, indicating that they’ve been burned off by constant positioning in a furnace of some sort.”

“Oh, Mr. Johnson, you are good.”

The next subject was a lanky dusty blonde man. He was pale but had a grey hue as if he lacked not only sunlight but nutrients as well. Accompanying him was a horde of 4 other males, all wearing baggy jeans and graphic t-shirts. The man in question was wearing a green t-shirt with a robot at a computer attempting one of those user identifications in which a combination of letters and numbers had to be deciphers. On the bottom, the shirt had the words: **Does not compute.** ****

As the butler approached the group, it was clear that no one wanted to make eye contact and they all shuffled their feet nervously.

Lis and Will looked at each, the answer was obvious, “Engineers!” They said at the same time, laughing. Sure enough, written on each of their name tags was: software engineers. ****

After an hour of playing this game, it was clear that Will was ahead. However, neither of them took the game seriously and both had drank copiously.

“The one in the blue sports coat,” Will selected. In a group of young men, all looking as if they’ve just reached the drinking age, was an auburn haired boy with a knitted vest, a Versace handkerchief in his jacket pocket, and white Versace loafers - the logo of the designer on the sole of the shoe. While the other boys looked a bit uncomfortable with the obsequious nature of the butler, the boy acted as if it were to be expected.

“Oh no,” Lis groaned, “royalty.” Answering with much more confidence than she had done previously.

“I’ve never actually met any royalty before, what gives them away?” Will asks.

“Vintage designer clothes - old money. The pompous attitude and the way he looked at the butler.”

Will furrows his brows, and takes a sip of his wine, noticing for the first time, her vintage jewelry.

Feeling Will examining her, she looks him over and deflects, “You know, based on what I’ve learned about observation, I would not have pegged you as former law enforcement or an author either.”

“Oh?” Will asks, with a raised brow, “And what would you have guessed.”

“Dressed in the latest cut, ascot around your neck, pale skin, avoids contact, I’d say a Cambridge professor.”

“Well, you’re half right. I have taught before. But,” Will takes a sip, “I must also point out that I did not dress myself today.”

—

By the time Hannibal and Palo returned, Lis and Will were slumped and their eyes were glazed.

Mind still on the game, Lis pointed at the two men returning from their hunt and declared, “Killers!” Falling back and giggling.

Coughing, Will explained, “We had been playing a profiling game and guessing what people did for work.”

Smiling broadly, “Well, then hide your ducks! For Palo the goose murderer is on the loose!” Palo honks, imitating a goose, and chuckles. “Though, Michael did manage to shoot more of them than I did.”

“Then I guess I’m a better murderer than you are,” Hannibal jokes.


	12. Chapter 12

Quantico, Virginia - August 18, 2016

It had been over a week and there were no leads on the case. As he had expected. _What did that message mean? Was Will really alive? Did he finally run away with Hannibal?_ For the past year, Jack had tried to let them go, believing that they had died. He even went to the church in Florence where a funeral was held.

But he could not deny the similarities between the dead men in the cake and the Chesapeake (Hannibal) Ripper murders. Displayed theatrically, missing organs and limbs, no evidence. Methodical, organized. It was not a first kill. Zeller’s words kept repeating in his head.

Jack was annoyed and needed to clear his mind. A lover of the fine arts, with tastes not too unlike Hannibal’s he had a sudden urge to listen to: _Ah, fuggi il traditor_. Opening his laptop, he clicks away the [Tattlecrime.com](http://Tattlecrime.com)’s exposé with the headline: **Murder Husbands’ Wedding Announcement?** _Is Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter dead or alive?_

The once retired, now rehired, FBI agent searched for the Don Giovanni song that mirrored his heart. Typing in fluent Italian, Jack hits the search button. One of the top headlines denotes the reprisal of the opera at the Vienna State Opera house. Clicking through several links, looking for a decent recording, he comes across another tabloid article: **Countess of Sutherland Drunk at the Opera!** A beautiful red haired woman holding a plentiful glass of bourbon caught in an unwitting photo with her tongue out. Her face twisted in a sneer contradicting the refinement of her appearance. Jack smiled at the silliness of the photo, he liked her attitude.

Jack was about to click out of the photo when he suddenly felt his stomach drop. Though the photo was blown up and focused on the Countess, after so many years of working with the man, Jack felt the stab of recognition when he realized that beside her, was Will Graham. Blurred and pixelated that image of Will was, Jack could see he was smiling, one of the rare times he saw the man smile.

Joy and anguish filled him. Exultant that Will was alive but in agony of what that meant. For that meant Will had finally ran away with Hannibal. Jack mutters to himself, “ _Il labbro è mentitor, fallace il ciglio._ ”

[While yet there's time, retreat, Or woe befall thee.]

—

Imperial Hotel - Vienna, Austria - August 20, 2016

It was well past midnight when the two couples stumble in. After an entire day of imbibing on then finest wines, (though all start tasting the same after your eighth glass) everyone was slurring a bit. Even Hannibal’s accent had gotten a bit thicker.

“A nightcap at the bar, I insist! Or, perhaps, in our suite?” Lis suggests.

Palo adds, licking his lips and looking Hannibal up and down, “We have a rather large room… big enough to share.”

Will had not missed the suggestive looks Palo had been giving Hannibal all night. And says bluntly and a little hotly, “I don’t share.”

“Ah, that’s too bad,” Lis whines, “I would’ve loved to-“

It was at that moment when a uniformed police officer interrupts, their butlers right behind him with outstretched hands, attempting to fend them off.

“Mister Johansson and Mister Johnson? I’m afraid I must ask you to follow me outside.”

Lis, showing her entitled side, demanded, “Excuse me. These gentlemen are with us and they are not going anywhere.”

“Unfortunately, this is not a matter of discussion. There is a warrant for your arrest. You may come with us or by force. But we would prefer to not.”


	13. Chapter 13

Vienna Police Station - August 20, 2016 1:00AM

Detained in separate holding rooms, Will and Hannibal sit silently, retreating to their mind palace. As Will waits, alone in the room, he takes inventory of what has just occurred. 1. The officers had referred to them by their false names. Indicating that they have not yet confirmed their identity or that they were not told of their actual identities. 2. When they entered the police station, they were treated respectfully. Further suggesting that no one knows the true nature of their crime. 3. It has been over an hour and no one has interrogated them. Meaning that there is someone else other than the Viennese police at work. Some agency with authority higher than the local police told them _not_ to question the prisoners.

Will knew that there was no evidence. They had been careful to avoid cameras, even their hotel touted their discretion, allowing no paparazzi within 30 yards of the building. With their combined knowledge, there was no way that Hannibal and Will left any trace in their wake. That could only mean that someone recognized them. After all, they did not attempt to disguise their appearance. But in this tourist high season and this narcissistic age of selfies, it was hard to imagine anyone looking at anyone other than themselves.

Somehow, it felt like it was someone that Will personally knew that singled him out. And given the fact that their real names were not mentioned during their arrest, Will felt that someone was Jack Crawford. But how did Jack spot him? He should be at Quantico investigating their gruesome ‘announcement’. For a moment, Will felt a stab of pain at the thought of what must’ve gone through Jack’s mind when he saw those two dead men. Their faces carved in Glasgow smiles, organs and limbs missing, disemboweled to spell out their wedding announcement. Jack must’ve felt betrayed.

—

Vienna Police Station - August 20, 2016 1:00AM   
  


Hannibal sits on steel chair bolted to the floor behind a steel table, also bolted to the floor. His face inscrutable. He’s been in police interrogation rooms in four different countries now, Lithuania, Italy, The United States, and, now, Austria. Despite the jurisdictional difference, almost all the interrogation rooms are laid out exactly the same. Either there is a standard blueprint distributed worldwide or function over interior design dictates a homologous style. 

As he sits, composed, hands folded neatly in his lap, legs crossed, Hannibal wondered how many people have actually been interrogated in this room. Not many he suspects as Vienna had a population size of a little over 1.8 Million people and less than 50 homicides the previous year, versus Baltimore County’s population of about 800,000 and close to 350 homicides a year, the disparity was drastic. The room looked clean, unused.

Even the police in Vienna seemed different. In Baltimore all the cops seemed stressed and worn-out, every suspect a killer - even the gamblers. Hannibal doubted if even half of the current officers in the station had even seen a dead boy. It was no wonder why the officers were so relaxed when they were processing them. They had never seen a murderer before, they didn’t know what they looked like.

Still, taking a deep breath, Hannibal turned his head ever so slightly, this situation was not convenient. Looking up, he stared directly into the camera and wondered what kind recording system it was and how to erase the tape. With only 6 officers in the station, likely 1 during transport, it wouldn’t be difficult to kill them all, he thought.

—

Vienna Police Station - August 20, 2016 6:00AM

A sleepy officer, at the end of his shift, enters Hannibal’s holding cell. Unlocking the cell door, the man says indifferently, “You are free to go.”

Stepping out of the police station, Hannibal is mildly amused to see Lis, Palo, and Will Graham waiting for him by a white Rolls Royce.

“Michael Johnson,” Palo begins, “Or should I say Dr. Hannibal Lecter?”

“It appears that we are not the only ones traveling under an assumed name.”

“Meet the Countess of Sutherland and the Marques de Bedmar,” Will reintroduces.

The Countess curtseys playfully, “Lis and Palo are our real names, albeit nicknames.”

—

Vienna International Airport - August 20, 2016 12:30PM

Jack arrives in Vienna but it’s too late. Hannibal and Will are already gone.

Even though he wasn’t able to fulfill his duty and arrest the two men, Jack can’t help but smile a bittersweet smile as he sighs and looks up at the sky. All those years he’s known Will, he’s only seen the man in agony, troubled, and conflicted. It seems that Will has finally found peace, love, and happiness. Regardless of whatever personal feelings Jack had about Hannibal, it was obvious that the man really loves Will. They were like two bodies with the same gravitational pull. It was inevitable that they wound up in each other’s arms.

_Maybe he should consider a new career as a matchmaker,_ Jack thinks to himself.

**Author's Note:**

> https://www.beneteau.com/us/oceanis/oceanis-511 : the sailboat - they’ve also made some adjustments so it’s a very fast boat
> 
> https://www.marriott.com/hotels/hotel-rooms/details/vieil-hotel-imperial-a-luxury-collection-hotel-vienna/bilv/ : Hannigram’s Vienna Hotel
> 
> https://www.pinterest.com/pin/848154542320758215/ : Will Graham’s Viennese style
> 
> https://www.pinterest.com/pin/658510776741028270/ : partially inspired by this fan art (obviously)
> 
> *Author’s thoughts/comments/reflections:  
> \- The amount of time I spent researching and creating the imaginary menu was ridiculous. Actually, a fair amount of research was done overall.  
> \- Yes, for all you literary folks, there is a bunch of Shakespeare, Illiad, Dante, and Thomas Harris quotes. Someday I wish to write such beautiful lines as they.  
> \- Random thought: in a way, Hannibal (NBC) is fan fiction; as are all adaptations. Though a more elevated form that this. 
> 
> Translations:  
> L'amor che move il sole e l'altre stelle. (The love that moves the sun and the other stars.)


End file.
